


And Where You'd Gone

by deathbycoldopen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Depression, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel, alcohol cw, pining!dean, prayer fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:59:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbycoldopen/pseuds/deathbycoldopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There wasn’t any point to calling Cas.  He knew that, but fuck if he didn’t want to, just to hear Cas’ voice on the voicemail, serious and gravelly, telling him to leave a message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Where You'd Gone

**Author's Note:**

> It occurred to me that Dean doesn't know what happened inside Cas' head, and then my hand slipped. Oops.
> 
> The Dean/Crowley is only slightly more textual than in the actual show, and incidental to the fic.

He could tell that Sam had wanted to say something else, and changed his mind halfway through. He could see the thought brewing in his brother’s eyes even while they talked about their new resolution. It hit Dean in the gut like pity, like an anvil of careful compassion that he just couldn’t bear right now. Sam had never said anything about it out loud, about the knowing looks and pitying expressions, but there was a first time for everything, and Dean didn’t really want to deal with the touchy-feely bullshit right now. It was bad enough that he felt the night sinking through him like a stone; he couldn’t bear to talk about it as well.

He focused on their impromptu game and avoided Sam’s eyes.

“I’m gonna crash,” Sam said after a while. Dean grunted, lining up another shot at his beer bottle pins. He saw Sam get up out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t look up for the inevitable expression on his face. He just fidgeted with the baseball, getting ready to bowl.

Sam paused next to his shoulder. “Dean-” he began.

The beer bottles crashed to the ground, two of them shattering on impact. He’d rolled the ball too hard this time.

Dean swallowed. “What?” he said, as if he didn’t know what Sam was about to say.

Sam sighed. “Nothing,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Yup,” Dean said, getting up to get the broom. “‘Night.”

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since this morning. Unless he felt like running out for groceries or munching on leftover coffee grounds, he wouldn’t be eating anything tonight either. He hadn’t been too eager to cook much, lately. Not since… Well. The food all tasted like the ashes of holy fire anyway, no matter how much he pretended to enjoy it.

“Like molecules,” Cas had said, sinking down into a chair. “It doesn’t matter to me what kind of food it is.”

Dean scoffed, stirring the sizzling onions in the pan briskly. “Of course it matters, dude,” he said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with chowing down on a can of pringles or a bag of popcorn, no matter what Sam says about it. But if you’re gonna be eating while you binge watch, you gotta get some of the good stuff every once in a while.”

Cas followed his movements with half-lidded eyes. He looked so tired these days, even though Dean knew that wasn’t possible- just like he knew that there was no reason for Cas to be eating food all of a sudden. It stirred something uneasy in his gut, but he shrugged it off. Cas just needed some time to get back on his feet, that was all. Anybody would need a breather after all that shit Rowena put him through.

“Hey, could you chop up those bell peppers for me?” Dean asked, shaking off that particular train of thought. Rowena wasn’t the only one who’d hurt Cas, after all.

Cas rose from his seat slowly, moving like an old man. He was, at that- older than the sky and the ground they stood on. It was so easy for Dean to forget that.

“What do I do?” he said, squinting at the brightly colored vegetables.

“Here,” Dean said, abandoning his onions for a moment to grab the knife. He cut the first pepper into thin slices, and then in half again, to be delicious spots of color amongst the onions and meat. “Like that- not too big, but still big enough that they’ll stay crunchy.” He passed Cas the knife, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed on the handle.

Right. He wasn’t being completely selfless in wanting Cas to stick around the bunker and get some rest, but. It was the best thing for Cas right now, anyway.

They fell into companionable silence, only breaking it for Dean to give Cas directions on what to do next. The kitchen was soon filled with the smell of sizzling ground beef and slowly melting cheese.

“And _that_ , my friend, is how you make a movie snack,” Dean said triumphantly, tossing the last few cilantro leaves on top of the massive pile of nachos. He grabbed a chip loaded with meat and salsa and cheese, dunked in the sour cream for good measure, and popped it into his mouth. “Mmmf,” he mumbled around it. “S’good.” He savored the taste as he swallowed. “I gotta say, these turn out better when you make ‘em in a real kitchen, not those pieces of shit kitchenettes on the road.”

Cas reached out and took a chip. He examined it from all sides, not appearing to notice when hot cheese spilled on his hand. His inspection done, he took a small bite of it, eyes narrowed with skepticism.

They widened instantly as soon as the taste hit his tongue. He swallowed it with an adorable look of surprised on his face, and immediately popped the rest of the nacho into his mouth.

Dean swallowed and tore his eyes away from Cas’ lips. “You like?” he said.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Cas said. “I can still taste the individual atoms that make up each component, but somehow the overall taste is in there too. It’s much better than the nachos they had at my Gas’N’Sip.”

“Obviously,” Dean scoffed. “This is quality junk food, that crap doesn’t even come _close_. It’s practically not even food.”

“This isn’t junk,” Cas told him, meeting his eyes earnestly. He had a smudge of cheese on his bottom lip. “Thank you, Dean, for making these, and putting so much effort into it. I appreciate it.”

Dean cleared his throat, hoping that he wouldn’t blush. He’d just been educating his friend about the virtues of a home-cooked plate of cheesy goodness- leave it to Cas to make him feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. “Yeah, no big,” he said casually. “I was getting hungry, anyway.”

“Of course,” Cas said. He took another nacho and pushed the plate a little closer to Dean.

“Weren’t you going to watch Game of Thrones?” Dean asked after a moment of quiet snacking.

“I was,” Cas said, picking out his next chip with all the seriousness of a general leading his troops to battle. “But since you made these for yourself as well, I can do that later.”

Dean swallowed. “I was thinking more along the lines of…” Of him and Cas lying next to each other on the bed, touching shoulders while they ate. Of Cas watching the TV, enraptured by the twists and turns of the plot, and Dean watching Cas. Of maybe stealing a touch of their hands together, just a brush while they reached for the nachos at the same time. “We could…”

Cas was watching him with wide eyes, something like a smile dancing on his lips. For the first time in a long time, Dean let himself wonder what Cas was thinking about him, if maybe he felt the same electricity that Dean did when they were close. For the first time, he remembered not the feeling of Cas’ face crushed beneath his fist, but the sincerity in Cas’ eyes when he spoke. _Everyone except me_. Cas had all but told him that he would be there with him forever. By his side, even after he went off the rails.

“Cas, I… um,” Dean said, wishing his throat wasn’t so dry. His heart pounded staccato in his chest, aching to leap out from his throat and leave every truth locked inside him bare for Cas to see.

“So get this,” Sam said, rounding the corner with his eyes glued to his laptop. Dean jerked away from Cas, only realizing now that he’d been leaning forward in the first place. “I think I might have a lead on Amara- a guy in Houston stole fifty thousand dollars from his boss, threw the money into the street, and went on a shooting spree. Seems like it could be her handiwork.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Uh, could be,” he said, willing his heart to calm down. “So, Houston then?”

“I’ll come with you,” Cas said, standing up.

“Woah woah,” Dean said. “Maybe that’s not such a great… You’re not fully recovered yet, buddy.”

Cas paused, glancing down at his hands with a frown. “I’m well enough to be of service,” he said.

“Nuh uh,” Dean said sternly. “Sit back down and eat your nachos. Sam and I will call if we need you.”

Cas nodded without looking back up, and obediently began to eat. Dean couldn’t help but notice that he didn’t seem to enjoy the food anymore- but better that than Cas getting hurt again.

-

Dean grabbed the broom with more violence than he’d intended, nearly hitting himself in the face in the process. He took a deep breath, a moment to collect himself from the edge he was slipping over. He didn’t need this right now. Memories surfacing when he’d much rather be empty of everything, except maybe a fifth of whiskey.

He snagged the bottle of Jack on his way out the kitchen.

He took his time sweeping up the broken beer bottles, imagining that he was sweeping up the broken shards of his life- and isn’t that pathetic. Finally getting half a second of normalcy- of what passes for normalcy for Dean Winchester- only for it to shatter on the floor because he was too big of an idiot to see it coming. He hadn’t wanted to see it. He’d been so intent on keeping Cas around, keeping him safe, that he hadn’t seen that he was smothering him. Trapping him. Until Cas’ only choice had been to abandon him once again.

He took a long pull from the whiskey bottle. Felt it sear all the way down his throat and past his already burning heart. Of course Cas had said yes. Even being the vessel for the goddamn devil was better than putting up with Dean and his shit.

The bottle was cool against his forehead, a sharp contrast to the fiery contents. That wasn’t the whole story, he knew that. Cas didn’t hate him. He wouldn’t have tried so desperately to save him if he did; he wouldn’t have been so relieved when Dean was cured. Maybe Cas would never return the fire and ice attachment that Dean felt for him, maybe the angel wasn’t really capable of it; but Cas cared about him, he knew that.

Just not enough to stick around. No matter what he’d said when the Mark had Dean in its thrall, Cas had never intended to stay.

He finished sweeping by route, left the broken glass in a pile next to the broom. He didn’t have it in him to gather it all into the dustbin and take it back to the kitchen. Easier to just leave it, and hope that nobody stepped on it in the middle of the night.

He took another, deeper swig of Jack, ignoring the burn in favor of drinking even more. He wavered a little bit as he lowered the bottle; good, but not good enough. He brought the bottle with him to his room, drinking along the way.

The click of the door behind him echoed for far too long in his empty room. His own breath was the only other sound, shaking and alone.

He was halfway through the whiskey when he fumbled his phone out of his pocket.

There wasn’t any point to calling Cas. He knew that, but _fuck_ if he didn’t want to, just to hear Cas’ voice on the voicemail, serious and gravelly, telling him to leave a message. Maybe Lucifer still had the phone, and with every call Dean made it was another thing Lucifer had over him; maybe Amara had the phone now, and god only knows what she would think of Dean calling a lost phone, over and over and over.

He thumbed through his contacts anyway, stared at the icon next to Cas’ name. It wasn’t of anything in particular, just the sky one day when it was that one particular shade of blue. He pretended that he hadn’t realized that it was the exact shade as Cas’ eyes.

At the last moment, he swiped down the screen instead of hitting the call button. He touched the only contact listed under a number, maybe because he was ashamed of having that contact in the first place. Better this than calling Cas again, though.

He chugged some more whiskey while the phone rang, and rang, and rang.

_“Well, isn’t this unexpected_. _Shouldn’t you be curled up in bed, dreaming about your unresolved daddy issues, rather than making a two am booty call?”_

Dean swallowed. Maybe this wasn’t a better idea after all. He was too drunk to tell the difference. “Cut the crap, Crowley,” he croaked.

_“Oh dear, that lacked some of your usual enthusiasm,”_ Crowley crooned. _“What’s the matter, missing your boyfriend? Sorry to break it to you, but I don’t do rebounds.”_

He ignored the quip. It was easier not to think about the time, back in the haze of blood and demon smoke, when he’d actually given into Crowley’s relentless innuendos. He’d regretted it even then; and even then Crowley hadn’t gotten the memo.

“I need to know what he said to you,” he said hoarsely. “I need to know if he’s… I just need to know.”

_“I see how it is. I put myself in danger time after time for you, and all you care about is the asshole who let the devil out of his cage.”_

“Give it a rest,” Dean snapped. “We both know you’ve only ever done what’s best for you.”

_“Fair point. And on that note, how is it in my interest to tell you anything?”_

He settled on the bed with his head cradled in his hands. The whiskey wasn’t helping to fill this goddamn cavern in his chest, it was just making it more unavoidable. He should know better by now. He took another gulp anyway. “C’mon, Crowley. Just… tell me what happened.”

Crowley’s sigh buzzed through the phone into static. _“Fine. Your pitifulness has plucked my heartstrings. What do you want to know.”_

Dean sat up, greedy for any piece of Cas that he could get. “Was he hurt? Is Lucifer… is Cas alright?”

_“What am I, an angel doctor? I don’t know what Lucifer was doing to him. I saw him, we talked for a moment, and then Lucifer showed up and started throwing a tantrum.”_

“But he- you said Lucifer had too tight a grip on him.”

_“He does. That angel won’t be fighting back anytime soon. He was just sitting there, staring at an idiot box while an archangel kicked my arse. I don’t think he was really there when he was talking to me. Buried too far, like I said.”_

Cas had seemed so confused, so lost when he’d appeared in that circle of holy fire. But he’d fought back before, taken control to save Sam when Lucifer had almost killed him. Surely that meant that Cas could do it again.

But maybe that one moment of rebellion had pushed Lucifer into tightening his hold. Or maybe Sam was right. Maybe Cas just didn’t want to leave.

“I don’t fight anymore,” Cas had said once, his eyes wide and blank with everything that he’d done. “I watch the bees.”

Oh. Oh God.

“Hang on,” Dean said, rubbing his eyes. “You said he was watching _TV_?”

_“Yeah, he was watching some drivel in your kitchen. He said that he was just waiting, and that Lucifer mostly leaves him alone, but no one is that pathetic unless they’ve got a devil shoving their head under water. Or they’re you.”_

There were too many thoughts in Dean’s head, adding to the spin of the whiskey. Cas had said yes to Lucifer because- Sam had told him, because he _wanted to be of service to the fight_ , and Dean hadn’t been letting him. Cas had been watching TV with wide, vacant eyes, tired eyes. Cas was watching TV now, was staring and refusing to fight. Cas said that Lucifer left him alone, that he was just _waiting_. Watching the static, watching the bees.

“Thanks,” Dean said slowly. The whirlpool of thoughts wouldn’t stop, just kept crashing through him over and over and over again.

_“Wait, seriously? You’re even more messed up than-”_

Dean pulled the phone away from his ear, stared at it for a long moment, then hung up on the tinny sound of Crowley’s voice. Something monumental was shifting, and he couldn’t be listening to Crowley yammer on while it did.

He’d missed something. That much was obvious, had been obvious this whole time. He hadn’t been paying enough attention; up until now, he assumed that he’d been holding on too tight and never realized. But now…

Maybe he hadn’t been holding on tight enough.

Crowley said that Cas had been buried, lost, but he’d been lost long before Lucifer sunk his claws in. He’d wandered around the bunker like a ghost, as if he thought if someone noticed him, they would remember to throw him out. He’d watched TV, but that was only because Dean had told him to. Maybe if he’d been left even more alone than he was, he would have stared at the bees again, watching them live a life of purpose that he no longer had.

Cas had told Dean that he would stay with him forever, and Dean had punched him in the face.

Cas had been under the influence of Rowena’s spell, and yet all he’d cared about was whether the Mark was gone. He hadn’t even admitted he needed help until there was no other option.

Cas had stopped meeting Dean’s eyes, skirting around the edges of him.

Cas had wanted to be of service to the fight.

“ _Goddammit_ ,” Dean hissed, smacking his fist on his forehead. How in the hell had he missed it? It wasn’t like he didn’t know what it was like, to see all the color seeping out of the world until it was all black and grey, to feel useless and unloved and unneeded. He knew what it was to bury himself until he could pretend that it didn’t hurt anymore. He knew what that looked like, and yet he hadn’t been able to see it in his best friend when Cas needed him most.

He hated that he hoped that he was wrong, that Lucifer really was holding Cas under water. At least that meant that Dean hadn’t been so wrong. At least he knew how to help Cas if it was just the devil whispering in his ear.

_Fuck_.

He threw the whiskey bottle across the room, watched for the second time that night as glass shattered on the floor. The sound crystalised in the empty room, leaving him still except for the heaving of his chest. He listened, but he didn’t hear Sam get up to investigate the noise. It was just him, and the shadows of his mistakes.

Dean swallowed and looked down at his hands. Clasped them together loosely. Cas had said, once, that it didn’t matter what he did with them, that he would hear him no matter what. Dean knew from experience that wasn’t always true.

“Hey, uh,” he began, then stopped. His heart was pounding. He wondered if Cas would hear that in the prayer as well, like a drumbeat guiding him home. “Hey, Cas, you got your ears on?”

Only silence answered him.

“Yeah, probably not,” Dean mumbled. “I know… I know you’re lost, buddy. I’ve, um. I’ve been there too- you know that. There have been times that I’ve tried to bury my head in the sand… and it didn’t go so well. So, I get it. I know you feel like- It’s okay, though. Me’n Sam, we’re comin’ to get you. And it’s not just- just ‘cause Lucifer’s a dick, but. Um. We’re coming for _you_. So, yeah. I just… I need you to hold on. I need you to… I just need you, man.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands twisted in his lap, struggling to keep him from taking back the confession, laughing it off like he did so often.

“You should know, Cas,” he continued. “You don’t need to be all kamikaze angel for me to… to need you. I just… it’s you, man. It’s always been you. You deserve to be saved.”

The room buzzed in silence all around him. He squeezed his eyes shut, let the tears spill from behind his eyelids.

“I’m gonna save you. I promise.”


End file.
